Terran (Breeder) (3 page)

Out of the Market din arose a piercing cry. Marlix grabbed Urazi’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

Urazi frowned. “No. What?”

“Listen.” Marlix cocked his head to isolate the sound. “There.” Though faint, the scream trembled with pain and terror.

Urazi shrugged. “An animal of some sort. Perhaps a group of young alphas have cornered a feleen and are teasing it with a sharpened stick.”

Marlix shook his head. “I do not think it is an animal. I am going to check it out.” He pivoted.

Urazi cleared his throat. “Commander!”

Marlix peered over his shoulder. “What?” he snapped.

“Commander…” Urazi began again, “If it is not an animal, Commander Dak will not be pleased if you interfere in the administration of his province,” he warned.

Satisfaction twitched at Marlix’s lips. “That is reason enough for me to proceed.” To irritate Commander Dak would be worth his trouble. He gestured at the bolt of fabric and the netted sack of fresh fruit and vegetables Urazi carried. “Proceed home. I will follow shortly.”

“Very well. By your leave, Commander,” Urazi said.

Marlix backtracked to the Terran Bazaar, from which the cry had seemed to emanate. People scrambled to get out of his way.

Another cry rent the Market.

Like all Alphas, Marlix had been tested in battle, put through endurance exercises few could survive. He had watched men die and had been responsible for some of the deaths himself. Neither fear nor pain fazed him.

This particular cry did.

Marlix ran.

Conscious of the shocked and frightened stares of the shoppers and vendors, Marlix sped through the labyrinth of stalls, cursing the layout that prevented him from traveling in a straight line. At last he spied the large TERRAN ENTERPRISES sign rising over the Market. He rounded the corner.

Three betas tormented a writhing, bloodied creature. The sobbing female crawled toward the tent while the betas kicked her. Her clothing hung in green-and-brown ribboned tatters; her limbs were stained red. The betas had not been careful how they sliced at her uniform with their daggers.

Marlix riveted on the female’s mass of pink hair.

A crowd chanted encouragement. When the trio tired of her, she would be game for the onlookers. Like securing an insect to a mat, the largest of the beta males stomped on her back with his booted foot and pinned her to the hard-packed dirt.

The crowd cheered.

The beta unfastened his uniform and freed his erection. Yanking her by the hair, he hauled Tara to her knees.

“NO!” Marlix shouted. His muscles coiled and bunched in a swell of rage. He charged. Roaring, he grabbed the beta, lifted him over his head, and threw him. The male sailed over the crowd and slammed headfirst into a massive wooden pillar. He crumpled to the ground.

Marlix whipped around to find the attacker’s cohorts fleeing like
drakor
. He stabbed the crowd with his gaze, aiming at as many individuals as he could to lay blame on each one. Fear rippled on their faces, but so did resentment that he’d spoiled the entertainment. “Disperse,” he ordered.

The spectators slunk away and melted into the Market. Marlix turned to assess Tara’s condition and spied her disappearing into the Terran Bazaar tent.

“
Monto
,” he swore and raked a hand through his short hair.

He strode to the male’s motionless body and toed it. Dead.

This
was why he opposed the alliance with Terra and the opening of trade with the alien world. Where Dak focused on the minute similarities between their two races, Marlix recognized the yawning differences. Now his impulse to defend an alien female might incite further discord. And this wasn’t even
his
province. Urazi had tried to warn him. Marlix could blame nobody but himself—and the female, of course. Why had she ventured out unescorted?

The vendoress did not belong in their world. Even the treaty recognized that by putting Terran females off-limits. The aliens had some ridiculous custom necessitating the acquisition of a female’s consent before she could be used. It was a wonder they’d managed to propagate their species, because what female would
choose
to participate in an excruciating act? Even animals sought to avoid discomfort when they could.

Culpability belonged squarely on the slender shoulders of the green-eyed, pink-haired vendoress. She had chosen to put herself in harm’s way. And had she been Parseon, the incident would have been no issue at all. Protocol did not prohibit beta males from taking an unclaimed female for release or sport.

Still, they had been unnecessarily cruel. He glanced at the blood staining the dusty ground. The betas had laughed as they’d kicked her to the cheers of the crowd. She was so much smaller and weaker than they. There was no need to quash her resistance with a beating. To deliberately injure her.

Marlix expelled a heavy sigh as he wondered how severely Tara might have been hurt. Though their two races shared a modicum of DNA after Parseons had used a Terran gene to correct a deformity caused by the Epic Radiation Flare, the earth creatures did not possess the stoutness and resilience of body, nor the advanced metabolism and immune systems that enabled Parseons to endure pain, ward off illness, and heal quickly. After Dak had negotiated the treaty with Terra, he’d instructed the High Council on the Terran’s physical structure, their customs, and habits. It had boiled down to one proviso: Terrans break. Do not hurt them.

Marlix was not alone in wondering why they should bother to engage in diplomatic relations with an inferior race of people with revolting customs and traditions. The aliens refused to recognize or reward natural superiorities.

That was what most people found most difficult to accept. Terran males afforded their subordinate, inferior sex a status that ranked even above beta. Even though alphas partnered with other males, those anointed unions were never comprised of peers. How foolish would that be? Somebody had to be in charge.

Any interaction with a Terran created unwanted complications. Marlix glanced at the Bazaar tent and sighed. It would have been better for Parseon if he had not intervened and had allowed the betas to have their way with Tara. Dak had refused to see reason. Maybe the death of one of their females would have convinced the Terrans of the foolhardiness of the alliance. In outrage they might have severed the treaty. The sacrifice of one Terran could have benefited the many of Parseon.

But he’d been unable to avoid responding to her terrified cries and the sight of her injuries. Despite reluctance to interact with Terrans, she had attracted his interest. She had amused him, the little shopkeeper had, with her pink hair, heavy boots, and bold stare. Her riveting green eyes. She’d granted him none of the reverence that was his due but had acted as if they existed on a level plane. Punishable disrespect so outrageous, it was laughable instead.

But he should not allow her to preoccupy his thoughts. Only the weak wallowed in compassion, empathy, or pity. Not a warrior.

And perhaps the incident would teach her a lesson. Tame her impertinence. Curtail her excesses.

He eyed the soil darkened by her blood. Unless she succumbed to her injuries. She’d been able to flee, but not all fatal wounds resulted in immediate death.

No, she would be fine. She’d made it back into the tent. He grunted. Her people would care for her. The injured alien female with the amusing strut and colorful hair was not his concern. He needed to focus on the restoration of peace and order. Once he outfitted his inner circle of alphas and betas with protective uniforms, he could quash the deviance beginning to infect his own province and work with Qalin and Artom of the High Council to neutralize Dak and cleanse the rest of Parseon.

He spun on his heel to leave the Bazaar. He’d marched a few paces when his boot crunched on something hard. Beneath his foot, he spied a cloth bag. He picked it up, brushed it off, and peered inside. Packets of needles. Several sets of scissors. Terran sewing implements. The metal looked unlike anything he’d ever seen.

He’d just purchased a special fabric. Did the items go with it? Had Tara ventured out unescorted to deliver the bag to him?

Marlix cursed.

Chapter Three

If people gawked, she did not notice. Panic blinded Tara to all but instinct as she tore through the Bazaar.
Suck it up. Suck it up
. Sobs of relief convulsed in her throat when her feet found their way to her shop. Perched on a counter stool eating lunch, Ramon leaped to his feet as she stumbled in.

“My God, Tara! What the hell happened?” He grabbed a bolt of flannel off its stand and threw it around her, then hugged her to his chest.

Unable to stop crying, she heaved and shuddered as Ramon rocked her and swore under his breath.

“I th-thought it w-would be o-o-okay. I only went out-outside to check.”

Ramon stiffened.

“They grabbed me,” she sobbed.

“They?”

“Th-three males.”

“Fuck,” he swore, his voice laden with concern. He did not need to say I-told-you-so to remind Tara how foolish she’d been. “We need to call Security. The Terran Embassy.”

She shook her head. “No.” The Terrans held little authority and couldn’t do anything. Parseon Security did have power but would do nothing. Nor could she endure an interrogation by males cut from the same cloth as her attackers. Parseon did not consider sexual assault a crime but rather a sport, which was why the treaty attempted to protect its female vendors by insisting they travel with an escort. By venturing into the Market alone, she had disobeyed the rules intended to protect her.

“Yes. My God, Tara, you were attacked.” He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Did they rape you?”

“No,” she lied. She squeezed her eyes shut against Ramon’s shoulder. She’d been pinned to the ground. They had sodomized her with their fingers—they just hadn’t gotten around to the rest of it, because the Commander had intervened. She recalled his growl, his shadow. The boot on her back had lifted, and her attacker had flown through the air. She’d heard a
thud
and a
snap
, and then the pounding of feet as the other two attackers had scrambled away.

Only Alpha remained. Though he’d saved her, the rage and intent to harm that enlarged his already huge body had terrified her, and she’d fled, as much from him as the attack.

“You’re bleeding,” Ramon said, and she became aware of searing pain in her legs, back, and chest. They’d cut her when they had sliced at her clothing and had pummeled her with their fists and feet. “You need medical attention. I’m calling Security.”

“No!” came a gravelly shout.

Ramon started, but Tara did not. Hadn’t she known all along
he
would follow her?

“I will handle this.” There was no mistaking the threat in the gaze the Alpha cast upon Ramon. “Leave us.”

A brave Ramon shook his head. “No, I’m staying.”

Aggression shimmered off the Commander in waves. Ramon was wiry but little match for most men on Terra, let alone an Alpha. She had little doubt how he would fare in a confrontation. Again, she pictured her attacker sailing through the air as if the Commander had thrown a stuffed toy and not a live adult male.

She opened her mouth to reassure her shop mate she would be okay, but before she could speak, the Commander yanked her out of Ramon’s protective embrace and slung her over his shoulder. The Alpha stalked out of her shop into the Bazaar.

She could hear Ramon yelling.

Shock and fear paralyzed her. Hard sinew and bone shifted beneath her abdomen as the Commander carried her as if her weight posed no burden. She stared at the moving ground. His arm across her thighs immobilized her legs. The flannel with which Ramon had covered her trussed her arms. Tara found her voice. “Let me go! Where are you taking me?” Had he saved her only to rape her himself? Along with amusement and derision, there’d been lust in his eyes during their fabric transaction.

The Commander ignored her.

Tara worked her arms free of the flannel and punched at his legs. “Put me down, now!”

He growled and struck her ass hard three times.

She hit him again.

He retaliated.

For every blow she landed against him, he tripled with his own.

“Help! Somebody, please help,” she screamed, knowing it was in vain. Not a single person had come to her rescue during the attack by the betas, and no one would oppose an Alpha. Parseons would not, and though shock registered on the faces of her fellow vendors, the Commander moved too swiftly for them to do anything—if they had dared. Her fear rising, Tara began to cry.

Before she knew it, they had exited the Bazaar, left the Market, and boarded the sky tram.

* * * *

Marlix had never been moved by a female’s emotions before, but the feleen’s piteous sobs tugged at his conscience. After the way she’d been abused by the betas, he rued having to punish her, but she’d given him no choice. Her ineffectual blows had only grazed his legs, but public disobedience could not go unchallenged.

Could not the female see he was trying to help her?

Her weeping and struggles ceased by the time they’d left the tram. Reaching the entrance to his domicile, Marlix entered the elevation tube and waved a hand over the gene scanner. The door closed, and the tube descended to his subterranean abode.

Urazi met him when the portal slid open. The beta’s widened eyes said it all.
What have you done now?

“If you are wise, you will not say what is on your mind,” Marlix growled.

“I would not dream of it, Commander.”

“Bring a pallet—two of them—to the small sleeping chamber, and summon a Terran physician.” He shoved the sack containing the scissors and needles at Urazi. “Here. I believe these go with the fabric,” he said and returned his attention to Tara. Her lack of movement and sound concerned him. Blood soaked the cloth that swaddled her.

Monto! What if she had expired from her injuries?

Marlix entered the chamber, and a sensor flooded the room with solar-mimicking light. Though barren of all comforts because it was never used, the chamber would be a good place to keep Tara because it adjoined his, and he could watch over her, ensure she did not try to escape after she recovered from her injuries.